


New Game

by TediousLibrarian



Category: Dragon Age, Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age Inquisition - Fandom
Genre: Gen, In not-so-modern-Thedas, OC wakes up in the dark ages, OC wakes up the DA:I Protag, One-Shot, Oops, Stumbling, Video Game, Video Game AU, Video Game Dynamics, Video Game Mechanics, What-If, because there have got to be consequences, do you suppose, hahahaha, modern Thedas girl, no explanation, solas' reaction, the first half hour, the new world
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-21
Updated: 2017-04-21
Packaged: 2018-10-22 05:52:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,480
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10691070
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TediousLibrarian/pseuds/TediousLibrarian
Summary: Modern Thedas' Number One Gamer time-travels....Spiders-!





	New Game

The loading screen blanked out vision, soft symphonic music rising innocuously in the back of your head, for one long moment. Then the box swished on screen.

I_Game Over_I

...  
What?

[New Game]  
[Load]  
[Downloadable Content]  
[Settings]  
[High Score]

Strangely paralyzed and more strangely unworried, you blink at the gently falling snow swirling over a well-worn path. Two lines of traveling peoples stalk forward, neither looking each others' ways. The resemblance to what your head was saying were Halloween costumes taken to extremes stalked away from you in two uniform lines. _Disconcerting_. Disconcerting was a good word for everything you were feeling. Disconcertingly off balanced. Disconcertingly apathetic. Disconcertingly - Something akin to shock without really. There was an abstract vibe to the angry buzzing at the back of your head, like you were five seconds away from passing out. Disconcerting, yes, but also...  
Hadn't you just...?

[New Game]  
Oh. Oops. Yes, please.

Then you register the explosion - cries of alarm sucked out of percussion compressed lungs -

\- a Templar shield flipping through the air towards your head 

The Fade's mists rise with you as you shake out the cobwebs in your skull, the clinging, cloying feeling of scattered thoughts from the annals of your memories dusted away. They float to the ground or cling pitifully to your shoulders. Agitating in their persistent susurrus. What-?  
[(X)Human]  
[Elf]  
[Dwarf]  
Well. You glare at it from the peripheral of your vision, checking over the left and right of your immediate vicinity. More thoughts. Ephemeral memories. Some sensations or emotions too nebulous to form coherently. You suppress the surprised disgust that would have left you shuddering. The bars wait for you, following your line of vision. If this was anything like a video game -

[Elf]  
[(X)Dwarf]  
[Qunari]

Ah-ha, the Tarot Cards highlight and magnify when your finger motioned closely enough. Excellent. {ELF}, yes. Dalish? No other option: fine. 'Historically oppressed' is honest but, was that necessary? Points to ranged defense. {FEMALE}, check. {MAGE}, wow. Really? That wasn't automatic? Weird. 'Left the land in chaos' which. RUDE. A customize option...

And. Maybe?

You kind of liked the way you looked just now, thanks. Even if your teeth were a little big and your ears sat too low. SKIP.

You were still puzzling out the vague descriptor tacked on to your chosen cards when something chittered behind you. You turn to look - The spider. A SPIDER is chittering behind you. For a second, you plan on moseying away, entirely unconcerned about man sized insects. Then you realize you are dreaming, and no amount of scientific explanation about the relative oxygen intake to insect size ratio was going to help when your body was convinced the physical manifestation was very, very real and very much setting its sights on you. _Nope._ You run for it. You run like you were remembering every detail of biology class outlining how spiders fed.

Capture, acid liquefaction, and eventual devouring. Ugh.

 _I should remember this the next time I go jogging._ You tell yourself as you run up a sudden rock climbing wall and use the last bit of momentum to jump. It doesn't get you very far but farther was better when spiders were concerned. Was that a lady or were you crazy? ( _Both._ ) Her aged hands reach for yours, panicking eyes looking behind you at the source of the chittering and you heave yourself up with the admonition to _stop cheating on leg day_ because you could hide behind tights but tights don't stop spiders now do they? 

A reprimand that automatically died the moment you slam to your knees on some charred stone floor. You catch the faint impression of moving people as you tip over. Then it all goes dark.

Rejoining the waking world was sort of like being caught in the grip of a roller coaster ride as it wound down. Like all your blood was pooling in your ass and you had to adjust to inertia reasserting itself, heart working sluggishly to reestablish the natural order. It turned your body into dead weight when you heaved it upright. Or, _tried_ to heave it upright - you overbalanced on that last bit because your inner ear wasn't working. It took you a moment to realize what happened because -

**_Pain!_ **

\- landing on your hands caused physical agony. The left side of your numb body lit up like an Andrastemas tree, throbbing in time to flickering fairy lights, and ow, _ow_ , you haven't been this pained since you crashed your brother's hover-board into an oncoming land-tractor. You were too shocked for tears. 

[You recuperated in a Dungeon Cell! Your health is at 50%.]

The Pop-up(?) disappeared after your eyes hit the last line. You have never been so disgusted by pop culture. Disgruntled, and not even registering the [Dungeon Cell], you finished tugging your knees into cooperation and started looking around. Four armored suits gleam in the torchlight. A dungeon cell, you recall, staring at them. Templar replicas. They glitter menacingly at you for the few moments it takes you to realize their unwavering swords are not, in fact, posed for theatric affect. There are men in that armor, and they are threatening you beyond iron bars.

It's possible your attitude needs some readjustment. You think wryly as the offense flows through you. _That_ or you desperately need to reprioritize self-preservation on your list of prerogatives. 

There's also a thick veneer of fear overburdening your affront, but you ignore that because acknowledging that fear means giving in to the impulse to make watering Bambi-eyes at the helmet nearest you, and something tells you - very firmly - that this reaction will not be met with sympathy. There's a lot of tension in the room. Tension that is very reminiscent of incredible _anger._

[Wisdom goes up! +1]  
[Perception goes up! +1]

Blinking away the notifications might give your captors the entirely wrong impression, but _what the fuck?_

[Warning! Your mark will cause you pulses of physical agony every time the Breach expands!]

Recovering from the blistering agony of localized lightening technique, you blearily mentally thank whatever cheerful sociopath scripted that for your benefit. _Useless to know._ For now, that was. Maybe later. _Later_ , you think as two of the Templars break off to circle behind you. _Later_ , you hope, jerking away from the hand closing around your arm by reflex and against all common sense. _There will be a later._

They bind you in an iron plank, rusting in spots and oiled down all over. Disgusting to smell. Old world, you think again, not aware until that moment that you were contemplating the details piling up. Everything looked like it was from the dark ages. 

Templar number three, well away from the two standing guard and the fourth shackling you roughly, barks at you. "UP." He beckons with his sword. 

_The fuck do you think I am? A dog?_ You mentally snark. Tight faced, you struggle to your aching feet and drag yourself from the cell. The stone formation ripples from a circle where all the cell doors meet, three tiny steps down from the platforms. Easier to see into the cells, you guess, but that plain cracked stone is where the first Templar stops you. Even kneeling sends a wave of relief through you, body conserving energy even though it feels like a week since you first pitched into the smoking ruins of wherever that rift in space led.

 _It is logical._ You tell yourself firmly. You don't know where you are. Odds are they don't know you, don't know how you got here, don't know _why_ you're here. For all they know you're some kind of threat and you can ascertain what they want and how this came to be. Er. _Without_ mentioning the video game mechanics, preferably. The Templars assume position and then hold themselves still, swords raised and ire watering down to something like wary disgust. 

Actually, forget offense. Their disregard is more upsetting than their obvious distrust.

The room had a doorway, one with a cut out sliding door to look out and beyond (or in), which hid the owner of whatever footsteps calmly made their way towards you. Not calmly, you observe as the door bursts open and jams loudly on the uneven cut of its own bottom edge. _Controlled._ The woman - armor, leather not iron, short hair but braided (rat's tail? Short crown?), mocking a playful gait - circling around you leans in close, huffing foul breath into your eye, "Tell me why we shouldn't kill you now.

"The conclave is destroyed, everyone who attended is dead. Except for you." What?

What. The fuck. Not to mention the second woman observing her, hooded eyes and unsmiling mouth the placid calm of a poised statuette. One loud set of steps to hide hers? Wait: focus on the woman wrenching your hand half out of joint, asking for an explanation.

(What explanation? What explanation could you possibly give? What?)

"I. I don't. Know." You croak indecisively over the dramatically timed crackle of The Mark.

" _Liar!_ " 

Fuuuuuuuck. 

Hooded One ominously hovering over shoulder takes two steps forward, gently clotheslining the aggressive one and pushing her back a few steps. Good, thank -

"We _need_ her, Cassandra."-s for nothing oh heartless one. Sheesh. You feel your brows furrow (mostly because it exacerbates your headache) as she stalks back to you. "Do you remember what happened? How this began?" 

"Spiders." You full body shudder, instantly focusing on the last thing that came to mind. "Not _real_ spiders. Fearlings, most likely." Your scholarly pursuits weren't the most rigorous, but you could almost instinctively recognize and interact with spirits and demons. Part and parcel of magic, even if it was mostly useless.

"And?" The woman leans back on her heels, eyes cool.

You lift a hand to rub your temples, try to relieve the ache there, but the forgotten weight drags them down again when you begin to twist your hand around. "Uh. Climbing? The mists were ambient, and I could have found a way out of their territory, but that would have -" You clear your dry, dry throat, reminding yourself not to test their patience. They probably weren't interested in listening to you ramble about Territory. "I didn't. The woman wasn't a mage." Or, not a _somniari,_ and thus just as much not!magical because recorded cases of being physically in the Fade meant magic wasn't used. At least, not in typical fashion. You certainly couldn't Glide free of the encroaching demons. And it had been known to happen, people born... disconnected. Usually didn't survive that long. 

"A woman?" She crosses her arms, skeptical. 

You shrug. Hey, not like you know enough to lie. You list off in hopes of jogging someone's memory, "Funny hat, a head taller than you? Old, white eyebrows, lots of stress wrinkles. Handling the situation with a lot more aplomb-" 

"The Divine!?" Cassandra - she of the foul breath and fouler disposition - jerks your way with an outstretched hand. She thrusts it back to her side with a darker scowl.

Did she say Divine? As in Capital Letters: Divine?

"Her Most Holy was with you?" 

You... Probably don't want to confirm that, because what are the odds? "Ah." You prevaricate nervously. "She, ah. I don't know. If she was. _The_ Divine. Uhm." Who was the current Divine? Wasn't that a man? Or no, was that the last one? They came into power so old, they typically only lasted ten years or less. Did he die? Was the new one a woman? 

"A spirit?" Cassandra considers, angry looking face exchanging glances with the haggard hooded woman. 

"No." You dismiss before you can gain control of your stupid, stupid mouth. You cough. "I, ah, I'm more familiar with spirits than people, these days. I can tell the difference." _Don't mention the Dreamers._ You clench your teeth to hold back the stream of nervous babble wanting to vomit over their judging faces. 

Another look.

You mostly miss it as a box reveals you've gained one extra point of wisdom.

"Do you..." Cassandra asks, then trails off as if she doesn't know what to question you about first.

Ominously, the purple cloak swishes as the hooded woman drops her arms and leans forward. Studying your wide eyes. "How did you come to be within the Fade?" She commands an answer lowly. 

You pry open your lips to answer - probably sarcastically - when another box pops up. 

[Warning! You're acting ability is below Sister Nightingale's perception check!] 

And promptly shut it, staring at the woman warily. You're exhausted, grimy, aching, and entirely, 100% done with this conversation. Seriously. _A little help would be nice!_ You mentally shout into the void.

Her eyes narrow speculatively. "I have no records of you being at the Conclave." She says to herself. Her musical voice echoes back from the walls, more clearly than Cassandra's for how quiet the room is. 

Cassandra hums deep in her throat, no longer examining you but Sister Nightingale. "You could not find anything?" Nightingale straightens so they can communicate non-verbally, ignoring you as you sweat from sheer nerves. You are _never_ going to make fun of criminals in examination rooms again. You _swear._

"No." Nightingale slides her eyes back to you. "Were you?" 

"What?" You ask, still captivated by the possible death promised by those eyes.

"At the Conclave." 

_This._ Really no way but forward, right?

"I don't know anything about the Conclave?" You try, honest. "I was -" Wait. Don't say that. "Not in, uhm. Wherever the Conclave was taking place, if we're somewhere with the Divine." Who usually stayed in Orlais, Chantry Central and thus on another continent entirely. _Was_ somewhere with the Divine.

"Where were you?" Nightingale asks again, no less sharp for the confusion in her curling mouth. 

"Ah. Aht, at home. Not, uhm." You dart a look around the esoteric dungeon.

And then they show you the Breach.

[The Breach is the result of an interrupted ritual to tear open the veil. It is fourteen kilometers wide and spreading. Tinier rifts result in this expansion, some as far as the Free Marches and down to the Frostback Basin. If the Breach is not sealed it will continue to expand until it encompasses the world. Note: the Breach does not destroy the Veil. Note: the Breach causes a warp in the Veil that distorts the Fade.]

[Quest Alert!]  
Seal the Breach!  
\- If the Breach isn't sealed, the world is doomed! Save your planet (and yourself) before it's too late!  
(34:15:56)

[Quest Alert!]  
Find the first Rift!  
-Sealing the first Rift will teach you how to seal other Rifts! It's around here somewhere...

[Quest Alert!]  
Prove your Innocence!  
\- Find evidence that you didn't kill the Divine!  
\- Find evidence towards the murderer!  
\- (Optional) Find evidence that you attempted to rescue the Divine!

_Oi vay._

Hey, at least you have a map.

**Author's Note:**

> This is probably not going to be continued.


End file.
